Poetry. "Like a post- conceptual Pompeii, Shiv Kotecha's EXTRIGUE archives the rubble of language as forensics. Freud's Little Hans meets Lynch's Mulholland Drive. EXTRIGUE works repetition and perception in order to collapse time. Through his numbered sequencing of the human stain, Kotecha pulls us into an endless present: '345. A FLAME THAT FADES INTO A PHONE A MAN THAT FADES INTO A MAN A LAMP THAT FADES INTO A BOOK SMOKE THAT FADES INTO A HAT.' EXTRIGUE, outside of self, is the canoptic jar of the now."—Kim Rosenfield